


thus passes the glory of the world

by bitfibber



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode: s03e06 The Portal, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Multiuniverse type thing, One Shot, Romance, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 22:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21005033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitfibber/pseuds/bitfibber
Summary: Inside the void, Adora lives a thousand lives and none.(If the portal shattered space and time, these are fragments of the lives that Adora has lived.)





	thus passes the glory of the world

**Author's Note:**

> The portal episode was whack and I was really intrigued by the ending where Catra (mostly) trashes Adora in a fight and they flash to different places in their past. I wanted to push that to the extreme and start to explore a bunch of glitchy types scenes that Adora might have lived in other space-time continuums. This got really experimental for me, so if something seems off, that's why. I hope you enjoy regardless!

Catra throws one last smug look over shoulder to Adora. Then, she pulls the lever.

Adora strains against her bonds once more, but freezes when she feels a _tug_ draining power from her, like a puppet on a string. The nausea sends her reeling, barely keeping her feet. The sword in the portal device begins to glow as Adora grows weaker and weaker and weaker and-and—

The light flares to a brilliant white, blinding even though her eyes are shut tight. The electrical buzzing noise grows into a deafening roar until suddenly it’s gone—no, until _everything_ is gone.

In the void left behind, Adora lives a thousand lives and none.

**1\. eyes shut**  
_tumbling back to the_  
_fake sensations of imagination.  
_ _reality cheats on my dreams._

Adora jerks awake, breathing hard. She yelps in surprise when she is greeted by Catra’s face, incredibly close to her own, and begins to struggle. “Shh... it’s okay,” Catra mumbles sleepily from across their shared pillow, her arms only tightening around Adora’s body, and she presses a kiss into Adora’s collarbone. “It was only a dream, you’re okay.” 

The air in Adora’s throat catches, water fills her eyes, and she plunges deep into the coldest water. The deepness chills her to the bone, inky blackness leeching away at her flesh as she begins to tremble, sobs racking her body. 

“Babe? Adora?” Catra is much more awake and alarmed now, so she lets go of Adora’s waist only to prop herself up and take Adora’s face in her hands. She presses her forehead firmly to Adora’s own, their noses meeting. “Adora, come back to me, right here. Listen to my voice, Adora: you’re okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Catra murmurs more to her while Adora slips from cold to hot, from water to wax, the even heat of Catra’s words loosening her clenched muscles. Adora’s fists let go of the plush blanket and her hands reach up to slide over Catra’s arms, fingers tracing over all the scars Adora has never seen before (scars that weren’t ever there before). She takes a deep, shuddering breath and begins to breathe again. 

“There you go.” Adora feels Catra’s lips turn up into a smile against her own. Catra kisses her long and slow but firm, the steady pressure comforting her. Adora blinks and heavy tears roll down her cheeks. When Adora finally breaks away, she buries her nose into the crook of Catra’s neck while Catra cradles her head in her arms. She breathes the scent of Catra in deeply, still not entirely certain if she is dreaming or not.

“I thought you hated me?” She mumbles into Catra’s collarbone. Catra hums in confusion and disentangles them so she can lean back and fix a serious look on Adora. “Adora, it was just a nightmare,” Catra slides a hand along Adora’s cheek, tilting her chin up so she meets her mismatched gaze. “I could never hate you.”

Catra slides a hand along Adora’s cheek, tilting her chin up so she meets her mismatched gaze. “I could never—“

Catra slides a hand along Adora’s cheek, tilting her chin up so she meets her mismatched gaze. “Now it’s over.” Adora kneels in the shallow lake outside of Brightmoon, surrounded by Horde soldiers. Behind her, Horde troops are overwhelming Rebellion forces and Brightmoon is already partially in ruin. The sky is dark, dark, dark and the Moonstone sits lifeless and dull atop its spire.

Adora is breathing hard, close to hyperventilating, and she can’t understand how she arrived here, where she came from, and what is going on. Her skin ripples with goosebumps from the cold water and the absence of Catra’s warm embrace is acute, almost painful. For her part, Catra gives Adora a feral smile, and then lets her hand slip away. 

Adora falls away from Catra’s warm grasp, down into the cold again. The water fills her eyes and mouth and this time she doesn’t try to hold her breath. She lets the air flow from her mouth in a stream of bubbles as she sinks faster and deeper, down into the dark and the cold.

**2\. clouds of silt burst from the dust.**  
_between salt-weathered planks—  
_ _clear laughter rings in a clear sky_

“Mom!” The little child releases a squeal of joy at the sight of Adora, then rushes forward at her. The room seems oddly fuzzy, or maybe that’s just her head, but Adora sinks to one knee and extends her arms out automatically. The little girl has sandy blond hair, cropped short and sticking up in all different directions, which just makes her almost comically large soft black ears look even bigger. Adora cannot seem to remember her name, though she feels certain that she knows her.

She thumps into Adora and squeezes her tight around the chest while Adora wraps her up in her arms. Her daughter’s ears are folded back flat against her head and Adora can feel the velvety fur on her cheek. ‘_She’ll grow into them,_’ Adora finds herself thinking, _‘with a little more time.’_

Her daughter releases a brief purr, then pulls back, practically vibrating with excitement. “C’mon, I have to show you what mom taught me! Come outside!!” Adora feels a firm grip wrap around her wrist and _pull_ her towards the open doorway where the soft orange glow of early evening pours inside.

Adora feels a firm grip wrap around her wrist and _pull_, only to be stopped by a similar grip tugging on her opposite wrist. Her eyes dart downwards to the steely manacles clapping her forearms. Thick welded loops attached them to long chains leading to the opposite walls. To her right, Lonnie and Scorpia finish pulling the chain taught, Adora’s arms outspread. She turns towards the door in front of her when Catra opens it to enter the room, the little girl dodging past Catra’s legs and through the exit.

“Wait, don’t go!” Adora cries out. Icy fear seizes her innards, preventing her from calling out again.

“You don’t tell me what to do anymore, Adora,” Catra sneers, her words burning, searing through the skin to her bone, but Adora doesn’t care. She is searching the room, the corners, the shadows, searching Catra’s face for any sign of their daughter. 

Catra cackles as she back out the room to leave Adora alone in the dark, mismatched eyes glittering with a vengeful mirth. The door is closing and the light closes with it. The darkness expands to fill the room—fill her with the musty scent of a day-old grave hastily dug. She tastes dry air, dry bones, brittle and prone to snap, to crack (to be alone is to be dead). She lunges forward against her bonds, where a door once was. Adora feels a firm grip wrap around her wrist and _pull_—

—around her wrist and _pull_, giggles pouring from her mouth and intermingling with another’s. Embers, warm and bright, grow in her chest as Catra laughs behind her. The warmth spread through her body and into her cheeks, and Adora is laughing too. They run as fast as they can, but they are children again, haphazard in their steps (fortunately, Octavia is famously slow).

They collapse into a squirming pile on Adora’s bunk, tangling themselves up into and finally under the thin blanket. The artificial lights shine through the green barracks bedcover, casting their faces into a warm and fresh glow, the pink on Catra’s cheeks more visible than ever. She presses her forehead firmly to Adora’s own, their noses meeting. Adora cracks a wide grin, exposing her missing tooth. If her life has even just one more moment like this in it, Adora realizes, it will have been worth it. Catra’s comically large black ears are pressed down by the blanket, almost flat against her head and Adora nearly reaches out to touch them. ‘_She’ll grow into them,_’ Adora finds herself thinking, _‘with a little more time.’_

**3\. same old story,  
**_wicked people destroy what they cannot control_

Adora jerks awake, breathing hard. She yelps with surprise when she is greeted by Catra’s face, incredibly close to her own, and begins to struggle. In front of her, Catra scrambles backwards on her bed spread, a smile on her face and she says—says—

In front of her, Catra scrambles backwards in the snow, genuine terror in her eyes and she begs, “Adora, wait!”

Adora grins madly; the world is red. There is a storm on the horizon, big black clouds full of jagged bolts of lightning and Adora can taste its electric power on the wind. Then the storm is here, within her, and its power was her own power all along. Adora feels like her body is nearly bursting at the seams with a sizzling mass of energy. She does not wait, swinging the sword down in a vicious arc. The world is red; she cannot see the blood. She swings again.

**4\. Everything is connected**  
_under all this water._  
_Not even the moon can pull __enough water  
to break __Pangaea._

The rain falls evenly, soaking her through without the drama of lightning and thunder. White knuckles tighten over the hilt of the Sword of Protection until a few of them pop, the only sound besides the rain. She stands alone in a soft mossy clearing before a freshly dug grave. 

The earth turns black as the rain falls on Catra’s grave and Adora is alone.

She drops to one knee before the soft dirt and then bows her head until her forehead hits the pommel of her sword. Her teeth creak as she presses them together with all her strength, desperately trying to hold back her sobs. She squeezes her eyes shut as hard as she can, but tears still slip out.

A hand presses gently down onto her shoulder blade. Adora’s head jerks up, startled when she finds a woman who looks to be at the tail-end of middle aged. She’s got cropped lilac hair and in her other hand, she carries a staff with a curving circlet of metal at the top—

“Glimmer…?” Adora whispers in astonishment. Permanent frown lines frame the corners of Glimmer’s mouth, but there are also crows feet next to her eyes. The clearing is no longer the same either. Bird song fills the air and the trees grew massive over what seemed like only a moment. Daylight has burned away the rain. Adora changed too; the hands around her sword hilt are adorned with knobbly, arthritic finger joints and aged skin thinning to expose webbed blue veins.

Tears track down Glimmer’s cheeks, her eyes fixed forward, and suddenly Adora realizes that she need not mourn alone. Adora stands (knees aching). Catra’s dead body lies before her on a long slab of stone. She is (was) aged like Adora must now be, but neither time nor death could diminish her. Large streaks of silver run through her hair, the thick strands combed properly for perhaps the first time (last time). The wrinkles on her face only made her fierce beauty more noble, more refined, almost aristocratic. A gold circlet replaces her usual headband and more gold jewelry adorns her neck, her hands, and her fingers (a Queen in death, if no other time).

Glimmer’s hand squeezes her shoulder again and Adora finds her mind filled with memories of how long it took for Catra and Glimmer to become such caring friends. Brightmoon guards begin to lower the slab down into the neatly dug hole. Catra slips away, into a dark void. It’s a funny feeling to remember a lifetime of warmth and happiness with Catra, even while knowing that she never actually lived it (not yet, perhaps). 

In the distance, no longer visible even when she squints, is all the pain and strife they carved into one another during the war when they were young. This, too, is funny: at the time the rifts between them felt irreparable, words and weapons cutting so deep it seemed as though they could never heal. But all wounds scar with time. With more time, the scars became indistinguishable beneath their wrinkles.

Masons move in, stooping down to fit stones around Catra’s body until a mound is formed. A modest cairn that Adora will visit until age claims her many years from now (perhaps tomorrow).

**5\. And then,  
** _she is the darkness._

Catra growls, but she knows there’s no bite in it. Adora’s mouth splits into a wide grin and she begins to turn away. These days, it was amazingly easy to infer Catra’s mood from the feral little noises she made. Catra tackled Adora hard enough to force the air from Adora’s lungs out as a loud laugh, bringing them both to the ground in a pile of limbs and giggles. They wrestled together briefly on the floor of the locker room, wheezing as their laughter made it harder to breathe. 

Catra straddles her hips, but Adora manages to catch one of Catra’s forearms. Catra pushes Adora’s face away with her other hand in response, a mischievous glint flashing in her eyes. Adora smiles, blinks, then jerks in surprise to find the locker room gone, replaced by the dusty Crimson Waste tavern.

On the worn bar top, Catra straddles her hips and pushes down on her face with a blackened arm. Her claws cut into Adora’s scalp, pinpricks of pain. She is inhumanly strong and Adora finds her face pressed into the wood. She cannot smell the old musty bartop though, the smell of Catra’s black flesh is too strong. It’s the same smell of short-circuiting bots, of electric ozone and mechanically heated air.

“Catra, stop—” Adora manages to grate out between her teeth, a plea for mercy, still struggling. She’s breathing hard, eyes wild and desperate. She knows she has lost control and fallen to panic. It’s strange that she had never actually considered it before now, but Adora realizes she doesn’t want to die. It boggles Adora that Catra doesn’t seem to care that she will also die as the world crumbles, but then Catra’s idea of winning only ever involves Adora losing.

Catra chuckles, voice dark and distorted, and catches Adora’s wrists finally, slamming them into the bar above her head. She leans over so that their noses are only inches apart and Adora tries to look somewhere, anywhere, other than into the dark sclera of Catra’s right eye. The glowing, slitted pupil draws in her gaze despite her best efforts. 

Catra smiles, all fangs, and croons, “It’s always the same with you, Adora.”

She pushes her head down next to Adora’s, between the collar of her jacket and her neck until her lips met the tender flesh of her collarbone. Adora gasps, then screams as Catra bites down.

The corruption burns as it spreads across her skin in every direction, the glowing pink light cracking along the tiny creases between her pores until it cools into the same blackness that covers half of Catra’s face. Adora’s screams turn into wails and she throws her head back, straining against Catra’s grip. Catra traces her tongue up the side of Adora’s charcoal black neck as the corruption crawls up her jawline and finally, into her mouth. 

**6\. steam saturates the air but I’m**  
_trembling in the heat of a jungle—  
_ _you split into five and slip away_

The summer is so humid and so hot this year that it’s nearly unbearable to move, but not even the heavy air could keep their hands off one another. Adora sits up and swipes the back of her forearm across her mouth. She’s breathing hard, a sheen of sweat shimmering on her bare back and forehead. Her hair is mussed and falling out of it’s bun where Catra gripped it with a fist. 

Catra groans, almost a low growl, and flips over onto her stomach to stretch out on their bed. Adora stands up to go rinse her face, but stops short as Catra stretches, her legs tangling in the crumpled sheets while burrowing her face down into a soft pillow. Her messy mane of hair curls falls in waves across her back and Adora traces her eyes down her spine, a small smile on her lips as she admires her toned physique. She licks her lips, recalling the way Catra’s soft curves and hard angles felt under her fingertips and palms. The thought fills her chest with warmth all over again. What did it mean to crave what you only just held moments before? 

The sound of the cicadas began to fade away, replaced by the roar of the time rift and cracking stone. Adora doesn’t even flinch at the change anymore. Catra’s body stretches out in front of her on the ground face down after Adora’s fist collided with her face, half her torso consumed by black corruption. Adora traces her eyes down her back, a small frown on her lips as she carefully looks to see that Catra’s chest still rose and fell. 

The ground beneath Adora’s feet shifts, cracking—

** 7\. sic transit gloria mundi  
** _thus passes the glory of the world_

Uncanny silence surrounds her as the sword floats down into her hands. Adora catches it softly. Her ears are ringing from the deafening time rift and her knees are weak. A million memories buzz around her brain, countless deaths, murders, births, joys, hardships, and soft victories. She looks around. Although her mind fills with hundreds of planets worth of experiences, the actual planet around her is all but gone.

This is all that’s left: a tiny spit of floating land in the void. Angella, the queen who stole her destiny, is nowhere to be seen. Adora is alone, tears filling her eyes, and she uses this moment to herself to mourn all the lives she will never live. Finally, she sniffles, then wipes her arm across her eyes.

Adora lifts the sword.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the small interlude things are my own work and others are pulled from different types of influential media. I wanted to note where I got the stuff that isn't mine here:  
\- Number 3, "same old story, wicked people destroy what they cannot control" is from season 1, episode 3, said by Madame Razz.  
\- Number 5, "And then, she is the darkness" is straight from Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac.  
\- Number 7, "sic transit gloria mundi" is a latin phrase meaning "thus passes the glory of the world". The phrase has been used in many different contexts (but usually within the catholic church) and is generally meant to call attention to the temporary nature of life.
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments! Thanks for reading and I hope it was as fun to read as this was to write!


End file.
